


Not Another Timeless Classic

by UntoldStory



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Age Play, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, BDSM, Caregiver/little, DDLG, Daddy Kink, Daddy/little - Freeform, Dom Jared, Dom/sub, F/M, Light BDSM, Teacher Sam, Teacher-Student Relationship, Top Jared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 21:07:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12141144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UntoldStory/pseuds/UntoldStory
Summary: He loved cliches so much she became one.





	1. Chapter 1

'Join the sorority,' she said. 'It'll be fun.'

I'm sure that by fun, my mother meant parties and socializing and the first of many drunken escapades. And it might've been fun if the only other person that pushed me to come were here, but I hadn't seen Sarah for more than a half hour. So, at the moment, sitting by myself with a half empty Smirnoff was shaping up to be the most fun I've had all night.

"There you are!"

I jumped, half-smiling at my obviously wasted best friend. "Here I am. Having fun?"

She pointed a finger at me, clumsily landing on my lap with a giggle. "I've been looking for you forever. The boys are here, and the other girls just started the super secret initiation."

I met her stare with wide eyes, shaking my head with a laugh. "I think you're really drunk, love. Besides, I thought I had, like, a week. I'm too shy for this."

Her expression changed and she climbed off of me. "Calm down, virgin Mary. It's not like that."

I bit my tongue, but decided to make nothing of it, standing up. "Ha-ha." Am not.

As reassurance that I wouldn't run away, I'm sure, she laced her fingers through mine, leading me back into the house. I was being pulled blindly through and past bodies, mumbling apologies when a drink was spilled because of her persistence that we get wherever it was she wanted me to be. I didn't know where it was coming from, but the smell of pot was nearly overwhelming by the time we got to the kitchen. Well, that, and sweat and cheap cologne, courtesy of the boys from the fraternity, I was sure.

Sarah would've called it a miracle that I even knew what weed smelled like, but she knew my older brother well enough to connect the two.

All too soon we were pressed tightly against the other girls' bodies, huddled around the island in the kitchen where Tara was standing with a wicked grin, red cup in her hand. "Girls, as you know, tonight is the start of your lives as sisters and the end of whatever image you wanted to have before you got here."

I nearly scoffed at that, but a voice inside my head was too loud to ignore so I settled for rolling my eyes and attempting to listen to the rest of Tara's speech. Even though the word 'hazing' never left her mouth, that's what I took away from the entire thing. Sarah's eyes were lit up and she was acting like a kid in a candy shop, babbling about how she knew most of the other girls didn't have the balls to go through with it so, according to her, we were basically in.

The task at hand seemed easy, but there had to be a catch. It couldn't have been as easy and stomaching a few mixed drinks, stealing something off of one of the guys from the frat and rolling someone's house.

"There's going to be teams for each 'event.' If one of you fails, you all fail. You can't switch once you've been picked and the teams that make it through are our first picks. Easy enough?"

"What is this? Sorority games?"

"Charlie, lighten up," Sarah whined, tugging on my arm.

"Okay, but only if you're not the one drinking."

She rolled her eyes at me, but I guess she realized I was probably right in asking her not to do the drinking when several liquors were placed in front of us and the rest of the girls. Apparently, each group had to consist of three girls and because I refused to drink something that was going to curdle, Sarah reached for the nearest sober-looking girl. Ashley was the girl's name, and I only knew that because I sat through orientation next to her.

Tara and two of the other upperclassmen helped sort out the cups, pushing them towards each of the six girls around the table. Sarah was encouraging Ashley, and Ashley was trying to wave her off, obviously not as worried as her counterpart. After the first round of drinks, two of the girls were trying to keep their balance. A few more rounds and nearly everyone was okay, with the exception of the girl that threw everything up by the second drink.

Ashley didn't even seemed buzzed by this point, but I didn't know if I was really surprised. The second set of activities proved to be harder, especially when Tara made it clear that the item had to be personal. Half an hour later and only three of the groups had gotten a variety of condoms, a phone and a pair of underwear.

A few minutes later, Sarah met us back in the kitchen with a set of keys and a victorious smirk on her face.

"And then there were four," Tara grinned, leading the rest of us onto the lawn, urging us to be quiet.

With the exception of the house we were in front of, the rest of the neighborhood was quiet, the only light provided by the street lamps lining the ends of the streets. The girls around us were trying to keep themselves together, but kept giggling as we were given rolls of toilet paper, a carton of eggs and tubes of glitter. Everything seemed harmless, but I'm sure egg and glitter weren't exactly easy to clean off things.

"One of you lucky girls get to meet one of our own tonight. The group that manages to...uh, re-decorate the house the fastest gets their letter tonight."

"One of our own?" I finally managed to ask, cradling the rolls of toilet paper in my arms. Sarah only shrugged, squinting at the numbers on the mailboxes. Ashley, who finally felt the alcohol she consumed earlier, laughed, stopping in front of a house we already managed to pass up.

"One of the asshole professors that tries to get our sorority cut from all extracurricular activities every year."

I stopped, glaring at her. "And we're rolling his house why?!"

"Not us," Ashley said seriously, handing me the glitter sticks. "You."

I shook my head, mouth opening and closing in shock as the girls stood by a mailbox. "You can't be serious. Guys, come on. What if one of us has him?"

Ashley snorted, wrapping her arms around herself. "The only one he's gonna see is you, Charlie."

"That makes it so much better," I muttered dryly, setting the glitter down.

"Charlie, he probably won't even see you. Just do it fast. We'll be here to run back with you," Sarah offered with a smile, having sobered up a little by being outside. "Plus, you can always drop if he does."

"Not helping!"

"Wasting time, ladies!" Tara called, clapping her hands at our group.

"Give me the damn eggs."

Standing on the edge of the edge of the man's lawn was completely nerve wracking, but having to hear about how I hindered Sarah and Ashley's shot at getting in for the rest of the semester was not how I wanted to spend the rest of my freshman year.

I found out the glitter wasn't really good for much, and the only thing I thought to do with it was throw it across the windshield of the car in the driveway. I heard giggles behind me and somehow found myself laughing when I managed to crush the eggs underneath the door handles and smear a few across the garage door.

My heart was racing as soon as I was thrown the toilet paper, unsure of what to do with it since I didn't see any trees to speak of. The lawn was really plain, and it was slightly unsettling. Nothing about it was personalized and maybe that's why I found this to be easier than it should have been.

"What the hell do I do with it?!" I half yelled across the grass, raising my arms.

Sarah started laughing before her eyes widened. "Throw it and run, Charlie!"

"I'm not just going to--."

"Who the hell is there?!"

I stiffened, feeling my heart drop to my stomach at the sound of the deep voice behind me. Without thinking, I dropped the roll on the lawn, sprinting across the lawn and the road with the two girls in front of me. Once I was sure we were far enough away, I turned around and caught a glimpse of a very tall, very pissed off man with long hair in a pair of sweatpants.

I hoped that this was all worth it because I knew with my luck, this was only the start of something bad.

But then, maybe I was overreacting.

That was the same mantra I kept repeating the rest of the night, but once I finally lost track of time and Sarah, I decided it didn't matter anymore.


	2. Two

I was late.

And if there was one thing I desperately tried not to be, it was late.

I pictured my mother, who was really only a few cities away, astounded that the daughter that was nearly opposite her was late for something. By now, even Sarah knew that if she told us she'd be there by a certain time, naturally she'd be there at least half an hour after that.

"Have you seen my keys?!"

I was struggling to pull my other leg through my jeans, reaching for my bag that was on the back of the couch Sarah was sitting on. She had just woken up, still obviously hungover from the night before. She was grinning at me and I didn't know why until a half naked man walked out of our bathroom with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.

"God, Sarah," I muttered, covering my face with my hands sheepishly, avoiding looking anywhere but the floor.

She threw them at me lazily, waving the guy into her room lazily as she turned to me, "You know, I think you'd lose your head if it wasn't attached."

"No," I spoke carefully, pointing an accusing finger at her. "I would have been fine this morning if I could have gotten the sound of someone's kinky sex-capade out of my head."

"I warned you, babe."

"I thought you were lying," I laughed, feeling my face turn a few shades darker at the memory of one of her exes coming out of her room with a whip in his hand. "Seriously, I felt like I was going to die right there."

"Derek was actually pretty vanilla compared to--."

"See you later! Don't have too much fun while I'm gone!"

I shook my head as I heard her yell a reply, shutting the door and racing down the stairs of the complex. As soon as I looked at my phone, I decided against driving when I realized that walking would probably end up being a lot faster. Trying to maneuver around other college students that were late and having to stop every five seconds to let them cross would only make a five minute drive drag on to nearly fifteen and that was time I decided I didn't have. Gartner Hall was only a ten minute walk away from the dorms, and I could turn that into a five minute walk if I hurried.

Why did professors decide to have weird time slots, anyway? 10:25 was an abnormal time for a class on its own, let alone a writing class. Then again, English professors were some of the most interesting people, or so I heard. Sarah had told me the same thing about Math professors, too, but she held an insane amount of disdain for the subject because she swore it wasn't necessary to know.

I squinted at the paper in my hands, taking a second to check the numbers and letter on the marble, grey building in front of me. When I was sure I was in the right place, I bounded up the stairs, slipping in through the glass door before it shut behind the girls in front of me. My heart was beating loudly in my chest and my throat was constricting at the thought of the door being shut and locked. Having to knock and silently beg for entry on the first day wasn't the impression I was hoping to leave on the professor that could make or break my career at the university.

Then, I doubted that he had knowledge of that, but it was the thought alone. I counted the numbers above the doors, two hundred and ten seeming farther away the more I looked. I groaned when I reached the end of the hallway, two classroom doors opposite each other and both shut. The door on the left was the one I needed to be in, and it didn't look like there was another way to get in the room like the one across from it.

Swallowing my nerves, I raised a hand tentatively, meeting a pair of eyes through the glass above the knob. My heart dropped to my stomach as footsteps stopped right outside the door. I shoved the piece of paper and my phone in my pocket, gripping the straps of my bag tighter once the door opened. I couldn't bring myself to meet the man's gaze, ducking my head and muttering a small thanks when I was let inside.

Much to my horror, the only seat not occupied was one in the front row, closest to the door. I took it quietly, setting my bag on the floor and pulling out a spiral notebook to start taking notes.

"Name, please?"

"Charlotte Hemmings," I answered quickly, keeping my head down. "I go by Charlie, though."

"Charlotte is fine," the man answered, prompting me look up.

I felt my chest tighten at the realization that the man standing in front of the classroom was the man that was standing outside last night. I averted my gaze, focusing on my breathing as I stared intently at the papers that were set on my desk.

His name was across the top along with his contact information and office hours and I was cursing myself for not looking at my schedule before this to see if the names matched. It was a course outline and included what was expected of us. To my astonishment, he made no effort to bring up my tardiness or the aftermath of last night and focused solely on the syllabus, answering questions when he was prompted.

The room had gone silent and I found myself looking around, until my attention was brought towards the desk at the front. My professor had written his last name across the board, along with a word underneath it. Identity.

He took a step forward, looking from the left side of the classroom to the right, resting his gaze on me. "I want you to explore this. Who are you? What defines you? I find that we're different people under different circumstances and that we change with every passing day. Surely, you're not the same person you were yesterday and even the person you'll be tomorrow. I want to know what makes you...you. The sides you only reveal to loved ones or strangers. This is a personal assignment, but I want to evaluate who you are outside of being writers. I want to learn your style and what makes you different from each other. I'm expecting a presentation of this by next class."

At that, a feeling of anxiety settled in. I considered myself a shy person, sure, but the idea of giving a presentation made my heart race and palms sweat. My mother contributed it to being a nervous tick or issue of mine, but I knew it was more than that.

Mr. Padalecki, I learned, was a man of nervous ticks. He'd announced this when he was explaining why everything was entirely planned out in the syllabus, but as I was watching him now, I noticed he kept tucking his hair behind his ears. Another thing that was unusual, as most professors were warned against longer hair. Still, it suited him, and I made myself believe it was just an observation. His stare never faltered from the intense one he kept and it was difficult to pinpoint what color they were, exactly.

You could tell a lot about a person from their eyes, my mom would tell me when I was younger, and I couldn't find that to be more true. His eyes, currently a forest green, were hard and cold and I had a feeling it reflected who he was. He inched off of the desk, still grasping the piece of chalk in his hand, rolling down the sleeves on his dress shirt. "That's all for today. Next class, be sure that you can tell me who each of you are beneath the surface. I want four pages, at the least. See you all next class."

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, patiently waiting behind my desk as others rushed out of the room, clearly feeling the way I had the entire lesson.

"Miss Hemmings?" Mr. Padalecki called out, a smirk on his lips as he turned to look at me. "If you're late again, there will be consequences. I do not take lightly to tardiness, is that understood?"

I nodded, not completely trusting that my voice wouldn't shake if I spoke. He nodded, leaning against the edge of his desk. As I went to walk out of the classroom, he stopped me again, and I found myself holding my breath.

"And maybe you wouldn't have been late had you not been out all night. Just a thought. Have a good day, Miss Hemmings."


End file.
